


Sorrow's Path

by AvaWhiteRaven



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/AvaWhiteRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a branch off of "<a>The Way of Sorrow</a>". It gives the reader a greater depth on the events before the fall of Arlathan and their effects on Abelas. It sort of aligns with what Atisha talks about in Chapter 22 but, overall, I don't think it matters which story you read first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow's Path

**Author's Note:**

> Islam alas'nira aron fen'en: I lust to dance as the wolves do.  
> Vera em su tarasyl: Take me to the sky.  
> Fenor, aman ara'mis: Beloved, let me fuck you.  
> Sathan: Please  
> Ar lath ma: I love you

Outside, past the crystal wall of his bedroom, were the loud bustles of the temple, the courtyard stories below. It was early morning, the sun just barely over the horizon, and already the people were hard at work. But none of it truly mattered. Not yet. He had a few more hours to enjoy before someone would call for his presence. Those few hours would be more pleasing than all of last night, their need for each other mild and tender.

They had been too tired, both worn out and bruised from the intense training regimen.

At the moment, his body still ached. But the night's sleep had replenished most of his energy, providing enough stamina for a morning trist. Ilelan had become more than that, more than just sought after pleasure. A piece of him had grown attached, grown to love him. He hadn't said the words aloud yet. He hadn't imagined Ilelan would want to hear them. They were both too focused on their roles as Sentinels, too busy climbing the ranks of power and prestige.

He heard the chuckle next to him, drawing his attention away from the windows.

The sun filtered into the room, alighting the dark tan of Ilelan's skin, the tight flex of his muscles as he stretched. He was a warrior, one of the best in the entire temple, and his body told the story of such. Scars riddled nearly every curve of skin, in some places having broken the intricate tattoos of vallaslin. "Contemplating whether or not to get out of bed?"

Abelas arched his back, smile wide upon his lips as his hand dipped down across the muscles of his abdomen, letting Ilelan's gaze follow the motion. "Depends whether or not you'll stay with me."

Ilelan leaned over until his hand could follow Abelas', slipping beneath the sheet that pooled at his waist, finding the thickening, hard muscle. "Isalan alas'nira aron fen'en." He dipped his mouth downwards, a hungry and savage kiss, as brutish as his abilities as a warrior.

He reached out and snagged hold of Ilelan's neck, forcing him closer. Abelas released a sigh into his mouth, the touch of Ilelan's thick and coarse fingers around his cock provoking as much. His hips bucked into the touch, his erection throbbing and tender. "Vera em su tarasyl."

There was always something wicked about Ilelan, something that flickered dangerously behind the man's eyes. He was a warrior, cast out into the frontlines, wielding the large broadsword with seemingly reckless abandonment. And Abelas took pleasure in it, the raw force that boiled beneath the man's exterior, someone who could match him in skill and strength.

Ilelan squeezed and tugged, easing out every moan he could pull from Abelas. And every now and then his thumb would brush over the head of Abelas' cock, drawing a staggered breath from him. "Turn over," he ordered darkly, voice low and deep, the brown strands of matted and coiled hair falling past his shoulders. He pushed Abelas onto his side, his body slipping up behind him, his hand never losing its hold. "Fenor, aman ara'mis."

Abelas groaned, nearly growled, his hand falling down towards the fierce grip Ilelan held on him, fingers lacing between his. "Sathan."

Ilelan tugged harder, back and forth, their hands joined in the motion, knotting the muscles inside of him, building up the fire that twisted him right on very verge. He was coming close, that heightened glorious need. Mythal, he wanted to be inside him, in the warmth of his body. Ilelan moved closer against him, his broad shoulders moving up higher until their bodies were aligned. The hard muscles of his cock pressed against the skin of Abelas' backside.

"Sathan," Abelas pleaded once more, pressing back into Ilelan, encouraging him to finally enter him.

Ilelan dipped his mouth towards Abelas, his tongue caressing the skin behind his ear.

The bedroom doors were thrown open. Atisha raced forward, drawing both of their heated and lust-hazed gazes. Abelas nearly growled, his body rigid with near orgasm and the fierce desire to be left alone for at least one day.

Atisha panted, something awful having distorted her typical peaceful countenance. "Abelas!" She gripped her chest, fingers digging into the cloth of her robes. She was so out of breath that she barely managed to mutter, "The temple!"

Ilelan pulled away, groaning as he fell onto his back.

Abelas sat up, an elbow pressed into the mattress. "What has happened?"

"Abelas..." She dipped her head, nearly heaved over with grief. "Mythal! Mythal is dead! The temple is under attack!" Her knees buckled, hitting hard into the tile, just as her hands flew up to tangle themselves in her hair.

Abelas jolted out of bed, ignoring the lust that had assaulted him earlier. "What is happening downstairs? How do you know Mythal is dead?" He wanted to shout "how could she die" but he knew the question would ring hollow. There would have been no answer to it. He only hoped there was some mistake. He could only hope that the message or news was distorted along the way.

Ilelan followed behind him, his steps heavy against the smooth marble of the temple's floor. They threw on their gear, the chainmail and the thick layers of plate armor, focused on the task at hand. Ilelan gripped the leather bound shaft of his broadsword, lifting its marvelous weight. "I will lead the battalions on the frontline."

Abelas quickly grabbed his arm, eyes fierce with a command.

"I will be safe." Ilelan almost laughed, his lips arrogant and unabashed. He stepped forward, grabbed Abelas' neck roughly, forcing their mouths together, and kissed him. He spoke the words they had never dared to speak, "Ar lath ma."

Abelas watched him go, the words fumbling from his lips, "Ar lath ma." He turned his attention to Atisha. He gripped her arms and pulled her up onto her feet. "Atisha. I need a full report."

She swallowed down her sobs, voice cracking, "Enasalin has been commanding the armies downstairs. He had the Eluvian inside the temple destroyed before any of the armies could make it through. We haven't had contact with the outside world since."

"What armies? Who is attacking?"

"We're not sure. Rebels, the looks of it."

His brows drew together, a hatred burning his veins. "You are certain... about Mythal?"

Her hand flew to her mouth as she nodded. She fought back another sob.

Abelas marched forward, out of his room, and down the steps towards the center of the temple, towards the entrance. If the rebels made it through, he would destroy the Vir'Abelasan before they could take its knowledge. They did not deserve it. If, in fact, they had killed Mythal, if she truly was dead, he would never let them have it.

He worked his way through the temple, assisting where he could and ensuring that the Vir'Abelasan was the most guarded area. He continued forward, walking towards the entrance of the sanctum. Abelas stood at the balcony overlooking the two front doors, outside the scatterings of archers and warriors, the sounds of battle clamouring outside, the healers calling out for help from the servants.

Enasalin was was rushing through the doors, shouting out commands to the remainder of their forces that followed him inside. "Bar them closed. Let none of the rebels pass through!"

Abelas' hands throttled the bannister. "Enasalin!"

He turned around, hair drenched by blood, his armor splattered with it. "Abelas! We have to lock the doors. We can not let them get to the Vir'Abelasan."

"What of our armies?" He almost shouted Ilelan's name, but he forced it back down his throat, souring his heart and stomach with sickness.

Enasalin dropped his gaze, the great doors grinding shut behind him. "I am sorry, Abelas. The battle did not go well..." He finally raised his eyes, finally muttered, "Ilelan was among them."

Abelas hardened his expression and took a step back from the platform.

"What are your orders?" The older Elvhen stood waiting, analyzing the haze that fell over the Head Sentinel. "Abelas! Your orders!"

His eyes remained on the doors, not bothering to look at the army of Elvhen that stopped to stare. "No one enters the temple. No one leaves. Put archers in the towers. We will pick off the remaining rebels." He turned to assess the remainder of the temple, to see what they could salvage, to forget the name that would haunt him tonight.

"Abelas." Enasalin called after him but the sentinel made no efforts to turn around.

~:~

He sunk down into the waters of his bath, hardly considering the sweet and citrus scents around him. His ignored the intense heat of the water, the sweat that slithered into his eyes, burning them. He slumped down into the water until it covered his crown before coming back up for air. Stiffly, he rose out of the water, pushed his hair back, and sauntered into the room.

It had been only months since waking from Uthenera but already he longed to return to it. Enasalin slept now, taking his place. They shared in guarding the temple, switching places whenever necessary. However, Uthenera barely provided sanctuary. His dreams were vicious nightmares, sickening memories.

He took hold of one of the bottles of wine scattered about the room, swished the liquid around before knocking it down his throat. The wine, perhaps, would offer some relief.

The door behind him moaned open, Atisha muttering his name with disapproval. Typical, Atisha. Typical mother hen, watching over her chicks with disdain. She had become stronger over the centuries, this much Abelas noted.

He felt his head tilt to the side, irritated that he couldn't simply be left alone. "What?"

"Don't you dare use that tone with me." She walked into the room, her hands and eyes motioning to the cluttered mess he was managing to gather about his once lavish room. "This is your plan, then? Drink down every last spirit we have?"

He brought the bottle to his lips and let another swallow slide down his throat. The longer he spoke, the harsher his words became, "Is there some job for me to do? Some parchment I need to sign? Have the farmers lost their crops? The healers lost their herbs?"

Atisha, small little doe that she was, let her back stiffen and her head rise. "How long have I known you? How many years have we been friends?"

"For too long." He sauntered across the room, water from his bath trickling down his skin and along the floor. He fell back into chaise near the window, taking up as much room on the piece of furniture as possible. He glowered, waiting for the rest of her lecture.

She was bold, hardly phased by his power play. "The people are worried. Your people. They haven't seen you in days. Enasalin is doing what he can while you sleep but he is a stranger to most, some old fool from another temple who happened to be locked away here on accident."

Abelas tilted back his head, eyes rolling closed. "I do not care. The temple is functioning. Until a problem occurs, leave me be." Mythal was dead. The temple was standing. No one threatened their borders. What more did she want from him?

She ever so slightly shook her head. "Unbelievable. You walk around the temple bitter and angry, frightening everyone around you. They are so frightened that most of them think you would kill them if they said the wrong thing. You've turned off all of your emotions save your rage."

"Rage?" Abelas sat up, eyes suddenly burning with it. "You want to see rage?" He stood up and, with all of his force, smashed the bottle into the wall. "I will show them what my rage truly looks like." He was mindless now, his hatred and his burning sorrow, taking over his actions. He grabbed the closest piece of furniture, a wrought iron table, and hurled it into the glass wall overlooking the temple courtyard. The large windows shattered, glass fracturing every which way. A chair followed close behind, the people down below screeching and gasping. He rushed forward, taking hold of the bed frame and shoving it until it tumbled over into the desk.

"Abelas! Abelas!"

He spun around, brows pinched together and his lips in a tight frown. "Get. Out."

She pressed her hand into her face. "Abelas..." She stepped back, lingering her pitied gaze on him, before leaving the room altogether.

He growled, grabbing a small table and throwing it against the wall. He heaved down gasps, trying to forget and remember that haunting name, that man he'd grown so attached to. He tried to forget that Mythal was dead and that his loyalty remained unquestioned. He collapsed to his knees, bowing over until his head pressed into the floor.

Ilelan. His name was Ilelan.

~:~

"Abelas!" Suledin gripped his shoulder, eyes fierce with both fear and determination. "Abelas, the temple is under attack."

His heart shuddered but he forced it away, focusing on his task. Uthenera still clung to his senses, the dreams of his past proving to be bittersweet. He remembered clearly Arlathan, the sight of Mythal long ago in her most glorious form, the man who had slept in his bed for over a year... He pushed his memories away, focusing on Suledin instead. "Who is attacking us?"

"Shemlen," he muttered, his youth so apparent when he motioned the Sentinel to follow. "My scouts say that there are two armies out there. They both seek out the Vir'Abelasan. It appears they are fighting each other."

"Good. Let them." He hurried out of bed, throwing on his chainmail and snatching hold of his armor. "Where is Enasalin? Has the inner sanctum been breached?"

"Not yet. Enasalin has kept most at bay. But they are reaching the bridge. What shall we do?" Suledin was so young but he was also well trained, the best of scouts and quickest on his feet. He was also incredibly loyal, a proud pup eager to please.

"Keep them off the bridge. If they make it past, lock down the sanctum. Have our forces prepare for an invasion." He slipped on the last piece of his armor and watched as the scout hurried down the steps. He followed for a time, turning through the maze to find Atisha. Her healers would be a godsend, a necessary component to the greater workings.

"We're ready for them," was all she stated, as she shoved supplies into the arms of a servant. She tossed a glance over her shoulder, eyeing Abelas as he stood there. "Are you ready?"

He said it calmly, wholly without any emotion, "I am."

Atisha gave a solemn nod, trusting in him as she always had. "I have healers stationed in every chamber and every tower. Enasalin might need assistance. He spoke of a breach down below."

Abelas did not make any further statements. He sauntered forward, passing the shouts of his people, the warriors and the civilians, taking in each of their faces to remind himself that they were his people. He would die defending them.

There had been very few to reach the temple in some time. Perhaps, they had given up on breaching the forest's center long ago. The shemlen had better use of their short lives, seeking out reasons to kill one another, reasons to begin useless wars over simple ideals. These shemlen, they sought the Vir'Abelasan. That made them more dangerous than most.

"Abelas!" Enasalin called him from one of the chambers.

He marched forward, finding the older Elvhen motioning him towards the entrance. "Someone is performing the rites. They will have the door open soon."

He eyed the platform overlooking the double doors, the entrance to the inner sanctum. "Then I will greet them. Ready our forces. Let us see what comes of this." Abelas strided across the space, each step wavering time around him. He did not know these shemlen, did not understand their true purpose.

But he did understand that his people and the Vir'Abelasan came first.

~:~

He led his people, those that still lived, through the thickness of the jungle. They were an army, one to be reckoned with, one to be feared. He was their leader, their guide, and he pressed their advancement with hope that he would find answers. The Inquisitor, a naive shemlen, had drunk the knowledge of the Vir'Abelasan. His watch had ended, his purpose for existence, his role as a sentinel was over.

Unless, unless he could find another.

Fen'Harel, a sly wolf among sheep, had spoken to him. Spoke of other places with others like him. Perhaps he could find something there, something that might give him a reason to continue. Their sleep had been long, justifiably so, and the world was changed.

"Abelas." Atisha approached, her gaze piercing and her words trickling with bitter resentment. "There are still wounded that need our assistance. We must stop and camp soon."

He continued walking, over the mossy earth and through the thick foliage of underbrush. "You can heal them as we go. There is no reason for us to stop."

Sounds in this distance caught their attention. Scouts began to span out, a well trained scan of the area. Abelas knew they were shemlen, their steps heavy as a herd of deer and the noise they caused, flustered the wildlife. They were intruders, not at all like the Elvhen who were molded into the web of nature.

"Humans," Suledin informed, head scout and reliable in his abilities. He was young, naive, making comments with hidden snark. "We can take them down. They will pass by us soon anyway."

Abelas walked passed him, towards the noise, to see these humans for himself. They were a distance away, mere yards, but their position gave the Elvhen advantage over the view. They were heading towards a shambled ruin. Their attention was fixated, foolishly so, on the ruins. They didn't see the army of Elvhen overlooking them.

"Leave them. We would not waste our time."

Atisha gave a heavy sigh, determined to let him know she was impatient. "The wounded could use these ruins for a spot to rest. They need rest. I need rest."

Abelas turned to face her, his expression unchanged, but Atisha had known him for some time. They had served together, lost good friends in their service, sacrificed themselves for Mythal. He respected her but...

Laughter came from down the hill, the humans had caught their prize. He glanced at them, noting the thin bony creature, an elf but not of his People. She was a shadow of them, a weak mirror image, frail and pathetic as she lied there in a pool of her own blood.

Dying but defiant, she smacked a hand away. Even in their laughter, she was gathering her strength to make one last stand, pulling all of her energy into a spell. He was intrigued now, curious to what her strategy would be, watching as the natural world rippled at her touch. She was too weak to survive her own spell. Would she truly sacrifice the last of her magic and in turn sacrifice her life?

"Abelas?" Atisha lost her bitterness, stepping forward to peer down at the events. "She will die..."

The spell surged, spearing into the human, blood rupturing into the air. It happened too quick for his human mind to process, his body staggering away from her. The elf smiled, spitting a curse at them, Emma shem'nan. Abelas almost chuckled, the determination and defiance in her eyes, the self sacrifice... It reminded him of... himself, of his People, the Elvhen he wanted to protect.

Abelas stared onward, ignoring Atisha, or perhaps hiding his amusement from her. "Kill the humans. We shall rest at the temple."

Their arrows whisked through the air, passing by him and killing every human before they realized there was an attack. He stepped forward, without thinking, curiosity pulling him towards her, or perhaps it was the lingering crackle of magic in the air. His skin rippled with goosebumps the closer he stepped.

He stared at her, an Elvhen to an elf.

She muttered her greeting, aneth ara, thinking that he was somehow an ally.

"Abelas?" Suledin approached, his bow clasped in his hands and his gaze sweeping across her crumbling expression. “Shall we keep moving?”

He hesitated, watching her body tremble as the warmth of life, the spark of magic, left her fragile form. She clenched the soil, seeping her fingers into it, as if she were readying herself to return to it. She wasn’t afraid of dying. There was fear in her but it wasn’t about herself. Abelas couldn’t help but be swayed by her, although he refused to let the others know such. He was their leader and this elf, this misrepresentation, could not have any effect on him.

“Leave me. But my clan. There are so few of them…” Her head rolled over, eyes gazing into the woodlands like a beacon. “Backtrack… Please.”

Atisha bounded forward, throwing back her hood, concerned like the healer that she was. “I can heal her.” Her hands were already assessing the damage, letting her magic seek out all of the wounds, guiding what essence was left in the elf.

He lifted his hand to his chin, knowing well that the elf wouldn’t make it and knowing that Atisha needed to reserve her magic. “It would waste our time.”

Atisha’s determination flared, although it was rare, she was a ferocious force never to be underestimated. “Are we going somewhere in a hurry?”

Abelas shook his head, giving in to her complaints and worries. He backed away from them, turning his attention to Suledin. They would need to scout the area, kill anything that would cause issues later on. If they were going to camp for the wounded, they would need to secure themselves for the night.

"Scout ahead," he ordered. "I will have the others set up the tents."

~:~

Abelas walked through camp, the darkness of night hardly affecting their Elvhen vision. He ensured every tent was securely planted, every fire was well placed, and the People were pleased. He searched for Enasalin or Suledin, eager for any reports they might offer to keep himself busy. He hated waiting, hated the silence of expectation. He somehow wandered his way towards the medical tents, finding himself near the large granite slab where the elf slept.

His eyes wandered across her form, remembering that intense fire that had sparked inside of her. She was going to die before letting them have their fun. Her leg was bound between a splint and her shoulder had been the worst of her wounds. Even now, it still bled, oozing copious amounts of dark red, nearly black blood.

"Abelas." Atisha approached, herbs bundled beneath one arm and a folded bandages in the other. "If you are here to convince me to let her die, you do not know me very well."

"How long before we can move again?" His eyes remained on the elf, the dark brown twists of Andruil's vallaslin across her face. He wanted to ask about her patient, whether or not she would recover. He wanted to see that spark once more, that rebellious defiance.

Atisha huffed, a shake of her head. "Can you not let us rest for one more day? Look around you, Abelas. Our People are broken. We lost the Vir'Abelasan. They need this rest."

Normally, he would have argued with her. He would have spouted his lectures, ordered their army to move onward towards the west.

"Abelas?"

He lifted his eyes from the elf to Atisha, examining the stillness in her expression. "We shall rest, for now."

"And her?" Atisha tilted her head, eyes sliding down to peer at the young girl.

Abelas followed the motion, his eyes taking in each of the elf's features.

"We can not simply leave her. Those bandits nearly ended her life." Atisha's words were honey, always sweet and innocent, and quite manipulative. He knew this much, knew that she was sweet-talking him. "Does she not deserve our protection?" She began redressing the shoulder wound, herbs and bandages taking the place of her magic until she could regain her strength.

"Deserve," he nearly growled it but his voice stayed neutral, the sight of this thin and bony creature softening his hatred. She appeared fragile but her earlier display of anger proved otherwise. There was a strong source of magic in her, untapped and untried. He was reaching out and touching her cheek before he realized what he was doing.

"Abelas?"

He pulled his hand away, almost as if he had touched the scorching heat of raw lyrium. He turned away from the elf and Atisha, desperate to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

"Abelas, wait." Atisha grabbed firmly onto his arm before he made it too far away from the low granite slab.

"No," he stated it, his voice heated with rage.

"Talk to me." She leaned forward, assessing what she saw in his expression. "That's the first show of any emotion that I've seen from you in--"

"Do not." He turned his stare on her, made sure it was unwavering. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Atisha would do everything in her power to push him towards her, to push him towards feeling something. He didn't want to feel. He wanted to forget. "Do not dare. This did not happen. You will send her back to her elf clan."

Atisha's mouth opened to speak but there was movement behind them. She was startled, her eyes darting about the campfires in search of anything. Atisha gave one more glance to Abelas, eyes pleading, before turning her attention to her newest patient.

He should have left at that moment. He should have turned his back on her.


End file.
